The Insanity and Reformation of Firelord Azula
by LizaVera
Summary: Set several years after the events of "The Last Airbender," this story explores the character Azula and her coming-to-terms with mental illness, betrayal, and past emotional scars.
1. Chapter 1

_Part one_

Chapter 1

_Yes! We defeated you for all time! You will never rise from the ashes of your shame and humiliation!_

I don't know how old I am. I really don't. You'd think I'd be keeping time, but I'm not. It's dark all the time, and I stopped counting meals a long time ago.

So I could be 45. Or 91. Or still 14. I have no idea.

It shouldn't matter, really. I tell myself it doesn't matter, but it does. It's just one more piece of me that's gone. My identity, my control, my world. Fading, like some kind of scar.

Scar.

I knew a boy with a scar. We knew each other as kids. He's just somebody. Somebody important, but I don't know why. I'm also angry at him. I don't know about that either.

I think I'm older than 14, just because I can't remember anything anymore. I remember faces, but even those are starting to fade. Getting all blurry. People don't visit me in the dark anymore, because I can't remember what they look like.

My hair is long but I can't comb it. My hands are chained behind my back. My feet are anchored to the ground. Somebody once told me that this is all for my own good, so I don't hurt myself anymore.

The dark isn't new though. It's always been dark.

"They're waiting on you."

What?

"They're waiting for you. They're watching you. Waiting for you to make a move. So do something."

"Who is there?" I try to say. I haven't spoken in so long that my voice sounds strange to me. Like I'm moving my mouth, but a different person is speaking for me. My voice cracks, and my throat feels scratchy and dry. It hurts, but I try again.

"Who is there? Show yourself!"

The command throws a memory to the surface of my mind. It's a shadow of who I was, but I cannot recall the details.

Nobody is there. Instead, my voice echoes around the chamber, reminding me that I am in a very small and cramped space, and I am entirely alone.

I start to panic, struggling against the chains. Pain sears through my wrists and ankles as flesh meets chain, agitating existing bruises. I need to get out. I can't breathe.

"Stop looking at me!" I scream, although I'm not entirely sure why. "Get out! You can't-" but words fail me after that, and I stop struggling. A sigh racks my body, and I fall back against the wall.

I want to cry, but I can't. Instead, a numbness creeps into my body, paralyzing my limbs and freezing my emotions. How long before I stop struggling? How long before I forget everything?

I don't know how much time has passed, but I believe it's the end of the day. I take a moment, racking my brain for any information; a place, a name, anything. But nothing comes to mind. I close my eyes to identical darkness and remember the one thing that I can.

My name is... my name is...

The darkness aids me in my answer. Like darkness was _ever_ helpful.

I know you can't see me because it's dark in here, but I'm rolling my eyes.

_... Ah that was fun._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

One day I was brought into the light. It made a nice change. For the first time in a long time, my skin felt the warmth of the sun. I didn't open my eyes. I felt that if I did, I would be blinded instantly.

The sun made me stronger. I don't know how to explain it, but it did. I felt something surge through me, like I was connected. I found the strength to cry. I wasn't sad though.

Today I'm back in the dark, wondering if my time in the sun had been a reality, or something I conjured up to keep the darkness at bay. I don't hate the darkness entirely. It's comforting, oddly enough. I can't shake the feeling that I'm being watched though, and that's unsettling.

"It's time for your session." A voice, from nowhere, seemingly. I can't tell if it's in the room with me, but something tells me that it's not.

I hear a scuffle in the corner. Something has entered the darkness with me. A pair of hands finds my head and ties a cloth around my eyes. Not like I could see anyway.

I am released from chains, but my hands are bound once more as I am lifted to my feet. I cannot walk properly. My legs won't move. The hands half-drag, half-support me as I drift through the darkness.

The light behind the blindfold changes, and I am brought into a different area. I hear many footsteps around me. People are talking in the distance. I am put into a wheeled chair and pushed now instead of dragged. The murmur of noise is such a contrast from the shattering silence I had grown accustomed to, and it overwhelms me. I cannot bear it. I cringe in attempt to shut it out, but it is of no use.

I exit the crowd of people and enter another, darker area. My blindfold is removed, but I don't open my eyes.

"Azula." A low, gentle voice says a word I do not recognize. "Azula, open your eyes."

I process the order, but do not obey. I don't want to know what I would see. I could be blinded. This could cause me pain. I don't know this man. I don't trust him. And besides, I don't let other people give me orders.

"You need to open your eyes."

I don't. I know I don't. I don't want to know where I am. Darkness is my comfort, and I know I'm not in the dark anymore.

"Who are you?" My voice comes out as no more than a whisper, just as it did in the cell. But it's my voice this time. I'm certain of that. And with my voice, comes power. I'm certain of that too. "I demand to know."

"A friend. Or at least, I could be."

"I don't have friends." The words fly out of my mouth like daggers, although I don't feel angry inside. It's as if someone else had forced words through my mouth; they did not belong to me.

But try as I may to prove the daggers wrong, I can't. Friends... the very idea is foreign to me, and not one face floats to the surface of my mind. The daggers spoke the truth.

"If you're not comfortable with this idea, perhaps we can try something else." The man rises from his chair and treads across the floor. He is elderly; his feet scuff the carpet and he moves slowly, with much effort. He'd make an easy victory for me, if I could move.

"How about you tell me about yourself? Tell me anything, anything at all."

Panic suddenly rears it's ugly head. The prior thought, no matter how absurd, seems realistic now. Escape. I have to get out of here. I can't answer his question. And so I lie.

"I'm 16 years old. I'm from a rich family who lives in the city. We're important. My dad is in charge of the army."

The lies sound more realistic than I could invent. Something about them stirs a memory in me.

"I... I..."

"Yes?"

"I..." The panic that I felt only moments before was now consumed by rage. I struggle against my bonds.

"I DON'T KNOW!" My throat burns as the scream roars from it. I cough, gasping for breath, trying to regain control. "I can't... I don't know..." I whisper again, sending my body into another bout of coughing.

"Then allow me to help you." The man shuffled over to my side and lay his hand on my shoulder. I flinched away.

"I didn't ask for your help!" The words once again contradict what I really mean to say. I think the old man realizes it, although he doesn't reach for my shoulder again.

"Your name is Azula. You grew up in the Firenation. Your father was a prince, and eventually became Firelord." The man says these words slowly. I am grateful. "You were a princess and a firebending prodigy."

Some unknown force tugs at the corners of my mouth. I begin to smile. Why am I smiling?

Azula. The name that the silence had long stopped screaming. Azula. Named for Azulon. Daughter of Ozai. Firebending master. My identity rushes back to me. It's as if a flame has lit up the darkness. And I open my eyes.

The light nearly blinds me- I hadn't been wrong about that. I blink and squint, flinching, trying to decypher the images through the burn.

I was right; an old man stands in front of me. I'm in some kind of old fashioned looking room. Firenation. Blinking, the picture comes further into focus. Everything swims. My vision is blurred. Overexposed. I shut my eyes again, finding the darkness less painful than the light. Tears stream down my face. Ouch.

"Congratulations Azula," the old man says. I can tell he's smiling. "you've completed your first session."


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Thank you for the fantastic reviews so far! I'm really enjoying writing this story. Updates may be a bit sporadic for the next week or so... midterms and spring break are distracting.

**Chapter 3**

"Do you know why you're here?"

It's my second session. My eyes are shut again. I don't want to look at the light. I can't. It's too painful. After a few minutes of the old man asking me to open my eyes, he eventually gave up. I showed him. Royalty takes orders from no one.

"Do you know why you're here?" the man repeats.

"No. I do not."

"Try to remember. I know it's hard."

But he _doesn't_ know. He doesn't know how the darkness works. It seeps in your mind and poisons your thoughts until they wither and die a painful and horrible death.

The man tries a different question. "What can you tell me about the 100 year war?"

This is a school lesson. This is easy to remember. "Firelord Saosin began the 100 year war in order to share the Firenation's great wealth and prosperity. The other nations resisted, and war took effect. The Avatar tried to stop Saosin but was ultimately defeated. The Firenation rose to power, and has been the world power ever since."

"Do you remember the end of the war?"  
"End? The war didn't ever come to an end, old man."

"Really?" His tone is patronizing. I despise it. "Explain to me why."

"My father, Firelord Oazi drove the nation to greatness like no other. He colonized the Earthkingdom colonies and captured Ba Sing Se." Wait, that wasn't entirely true. "_I_ captured Ba Sing Se. The war was almost over, but the Avatar challenged him." I stop, the reality of the events of the war dawning on me slowly. I can't continue the story. I don't know the entire ending, and I'm too scared to ask.

Instead, I change the subject. "You haven't told me who you are."

The old man sighs. "In all fairness, you have not told me who you are either."

What? That makes no sense. "I am Princess Azula of the Firenation. Daughter of Firelord Oazi. Firebending master. Conquerer of Ba Sing Se." I spit the words out, as if driving them into stone.

"You are only partially correct."

This is infuriating. "You know, you sound too much like my Uncle Iroh. No need to get philosophical in here. I know who I am. I don't have to explain myself to you."

"There!" The old man jumps up from his chair, excited. "You remembered somebody on your own; your Uncle Iroh."

"Of course. I'm not crazy, you know." My speech is clipped. Aloof. But once again, I know I'm lying. The statement contradicts my very being.

The old man knows it too. "Azula, you've done well today." Of course. I always do well. "This second session was more successful than I imagined it would be."

"Well, what can I say? I've always been an overachiever."

* * *

Back in the cell. Chains and bonds. Silence.

The old man said they would move me into a room with dim light, in order to help my eyes adjust. Apparently I'm in that cell now. I wouldn't know. I haven't risked opening my eyes yet.

The room is draftier than the last. I breathe in a scent of fresh air for the first time in who knows how long. For the first time in a long time, I feel alive.

I hear a rattle behind me, and I turn around as fast as my binds will allow. In the process, my eyes fly open. I curse myself, but resign myself to the light at last. The old man was right; it is dim in here, the outside light coming from somewhere far outside the room.

The room is different. It's smaller, for starters, but it's cleaner. I'm leaning up against a wall by a cot. Finally. An actual bed. I look down at my hands bound in front of me, a little hesitant to see them. Hands show your age, right?

They aren't that different; paler and thinner than the last time I had seen them, but not old. Thank Saosin.

But my hands, which I had kept immaculate for all of my 14 years, are filthy, covered in dried blood, healing scars, and bruises from the chains. Furiously, I rub my wrists, trying desperately to wipe off the grime. My nails are too long, and I scratch myself in the process, growing more and more frustrated at my limited mobility.

The dirt... it must be cleaned. Have to get it off. Have to cut it out. Rip it off. Peel my skin from my bones. Scratch... get... off...

I'm bleeding. Where did the blood come from? My arms are shredded, like I've been scratching them for hours. So much blood... It's all over my hands and wrists and the cycle begins again.

Something blares in the distance. Someone is shouting. They enter the cell and I close my eyes because they let the light in. _Stop letting the light in._

They take the chains off my wrists. I'm fitted into some kind of jacket; it strangles me, enveloping my whole body, the final restraining order. Someone cleans my arms before fitting them into the sleeves, which are tied behind my body. My legs are free, but I can't move. I can't stand because they're weak. _I'm_ weak. And I fall.

* * *

The silence is gentler here. It doesn't scream so harshly at me. The light is slowly becoming comforting.

There's a mirror hanging on the opposite side of the cell. I can't walk to it, but I can see my reflection. Or I could _potentially_ see my reflection. Ever since I moved in, I've been avoiding that mirror like it's some kind of Earthkingdom plague.

But just as it was with opening my eyes, I had to look in the mirror eventually. Unlike opening my eyes, it wouldn't be accidental. I wouldn't be tricked into looking. I would look exactly when I felt like looking.

Today happened to be that day.

My curiosity had gotten the best of me. I wanted to be in control of my situation, and I couldn't fully be in control unless I had all the facts. All the details. All the plans. Assess the situation. Find out all you can and then _attack! _Ah. If only I could get out of this straightjacket.

I turned my head slowly. My neck cracked and popped, my muscles straining with difficulty after being still for so long.

Whatever face looked back at me in the mirror, it certainly wasn't mine.

There was a girl wrapped in a filthy white contraption; the straightjacket. Peasant clothes. Her hair was matted, filthy, and hung in clumps that brushed the cell floor. Her face was gaunt; skeletal. Her eyes were dead, emotionless, dark rings around them as if she hadn't slept in years. A smear of dried blood was on her cheek. There was no pride in her gaze. She was just... existing. An empty shell.

And that's me. Logically. But I don't recognize myself.

I shudder and turn away. I should have cried, but I didn't. I couldn't muster the strength. It was a cruel reality, but I was just going to have to get used to it.

I look at the mirror again. Older. Do I look older? Yes. I look ancient. How long have I been here? Three years? Ten?

"You've spent the last six years in isolation in a Firenation Prison."

I'm in that office again. I don't remember getting here. "What?"

"Did you hear me? You spent the last six years in isolation-"

"I know, old man," I snap. I'm looking at him this time. I was right. He _is_ old. Six years... six years... I'm 20. Twenty years old. I feel so much older.

"The isolation period was ordered by our head doctor. He said you needed time to think. Ten years to think, to be exact."

"What's your point? That it could have been worse?" My anger is growing. How dare they try to lock me up! I can't believe they've gotten this far.

The old man exhales his frustration and leaves the subject. "Since you've been moved from isolation, you're allowed to have visitors. In the case of this happening, there are things you need to be informed of."

I can't think of who on earth would want to visit me in this state. I don't want to know. I don't want them to come.

"I don't..." I start, hesitantly.

"Yes?"

"I don't... I don't want to know."

"I don't really think that's a good-"

"Tell me, what's that old expression? Something about ignorance being bliss?" I sound like my old self again, whoever that was. "I don't want to know. If they want to, they can fill in the details."

"You'll likely remember the details yourself. I just... I don't want the information to be too much for you."

"That's kind of you, really." Although my voice is laced with sarcasm, I kind of mean what I say. "But I don't need help."

Lying through my teeth again. These sessions always end this way.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

AN: Sorry for the pause in the updating... I haven't given up the story! College is just very hectic at times. Enjoy this next installment! Thank you to all the reviewers so far!

It's light in here. I can see the walls, the floor, and, via the mirror, my face. But I can't stop hearing things. Faint voices, like a buzz in my ear, won't leave me alone. Not even for a few brief minutes. And I don't like to dwell on the mirror, but the image haunts me. The wretch, the _monster _in front of me is mesmerizing. Hideous. Sick.

Monster. I am a monster.

Some kind of faint memory stirs in my mind. Something I said long ago... on a beach... somewhere...

_I don't have sob stories like all of you. My own mother... thought I was a monster... _

_She was right of course, but it still hurt._

I have lived up to expectations. And not just in the way she thought. I hardly remember my mother. For the better, I guess.

But there was something else hidden in that memory. Something about a-

_dear. brother._

"I don't love him more than you, you know." The voice came out of nowhere. But it had to come from somewhere. I check the mirror. My mother is standing behind me, standing proud in Firenation royal garments. This has happened before.

"What are you doing here?" I've said this before. No. No. _No!_ I don't want this. I shut my eyes tightly, blocking the image. She can't see me. She can't see me.

"I love you Azula."

"_Shut up!" _I scream at the mirror. There's nothing to throw this time. No way to break the glass, to shatter the image.

"I love you..." The image is distorted, faded, wrong. It contradicts my every belief. My mother is long dead, the traitor. And there is no _love_ in her heart for me. There was never any love.

"I love you-"

"_Stop!" _Stop. Stop echoing, stop talking. I will the voice to stop resounding in my head, and I will it with every fiber in my being. And yet, it keeps going.

A loss of control. I'm not in charge. I begin to panic. I can't move my arms. Can't throw anything at the mirror. Can't block the noise in my head. My own mind isn't even obeying me. This isn't the way it's supposed to be.

* * *

"When can I get out of this jacket?" I ask the old man the next time I'm in the office.

"That's not really up to me," the old man says.

Good. He shouldn't be in charge. "Get it off me." It feels good to give the order.

The old man just smiles. Patronizing. "I'm afraid I can't do that, Azula. You're a danger to yourself and to me if I take that jacket off."

"I _know_, old man. I'm supposed to be dangerous. That's who I am."

"You fail to realize the fine line," the old man walks to a bookshelf. His back is to me, but I can see him opening a small box on the shelf. He turns around, holding a small vial of clear liquid. "I can kill you now. I have reason to. And permission. I hold the power. I am lethal."

I try not to show fear. I'm not afraid of him. He's an old man. And yet, his words chill me to the bone.

"However," he puts the vial back in the box, securing it with a lock. "I choose not to. See the difference? Not dangerous."

"So you're betting that if you let me out of this jacket, I'll up and murder you on the spot?" He might not be wrong. He's been royally pissing me off ever since I've started these... sessions.

"You have a reason to," he says calmly. "And you're a firebending prodigy, whose powers I do not know the extent of."

"You think I can still bend?" A glimmer of hope swells in my chest. It's a weird feeling. I'm not sure if I've ever felt it before.

"I have no idea." The old man walks over to me. "You've been locked away, but that shouldn't prevent you from bending."

"Why are you telling me this?" I don't trust his motives. He's giving me a sense of security. He's telling me that I could break out of here if I wanted to. And I don't believe him.

"You haven't shown any proof of any firebending since you've come here. I don't know why."

I could prove him wrong. Right now. I take a deep breath, gathering a little strength. But I don't act. I don't do anything. I exhale slowly. I don't know if I can bend or not. I'm not sure I want to find out.

The old man's hand comes to rest on my shoulder. My eyes are downcast, staring at my knees. I don't shrug him off.

"Someday I will help you regain control of your bending," the old man says gently. "But now is not the time."

He doesn't give me a further explanation. Something in his tone makes me uneasy. I don't know how to react.

"_Now is not the time."_

"_Now is not the time."_

"I get it!" I yell. The old man jumps backwards. I've startled him.

"I'm sorry..." I try to get my voice to convey what I mean. I mean to be sorry. I didn't mean to startle him. But I'm not sure the man believes me.

He ignores both my outburst and apology. He shakes his head and moves away from me, back towards his desk.

"Two days from now, you'll be having a visitor," he says, looking at a small parchment piece. "I'm telling you this now so that you can prepare yourself for what is to come."

"I don't really want visitors," I mutter under my breath. I know he hears me.

"You don't really have a choice. By the Firelord's orders, I have to permit you to see him."

"Who, the Firelord?" I scoff. That's no problem. My dad and I get along, well _mostly_, famously.

"Yes," but there's hesitation in the old man's voice. "The Firelord has planned a visit."

"Good then. That's fine." Everything seemed to be in order. But as I was escorted out of the room once again, an uncertain thought lingered in the back of my mind. A sort of inexplicable dread for something I could not name.

Two days. I could handle two days.


	5. Chapter 5

AN: Sorry for the lack of updates. I started this story because I was bored in classes this semester, but suddenly the professors are expecting me to do tons of projects. Anyway, this story is not dead, I'm just busy with school. Enjoy!

**_Chapter 5_**

Two days felt like an eternity. I sat through an entire session on dealing properly with anger, but I couldn't bring myself to actually listen. I don't like being lectured at.

But here I sit, with some vague points about controlling anger still buzzing in my head, waiting for the inevitable; the visit from my father. Ironically, my anger is growing.

How could he send me away? How could he betray me like that? Like _Zuko. _I plan to confront him. After six years, I deserve some answers.

There is a knock on the door. A voice behind it says, "A visitor."

The door swings open. Light pierces my eyes, creating a sharp silhouette of a tall, broad shouldered man; the Firelord. Squinting, my gaze falls upon the royal headpiece, long hair, and long robes of the most noble of leaders. Customarily, I would have bowed.

"I am humbled by your presence, most noble Firelord." I settle for a formal greeting. Everyone loves a formal greeting.

"Greetings, Azula."

Those two words. I should have known. The Firelord, huh? Firelord my ass.

"_Get out, Zuko! How _dare _you stand where he stood! How dare you take his place!" As I spit the words from my mouth, my anger consumes me. I burst free of the jacket that had held me still for so long. "The throne is not yours to take! You traitor!" Fire crackles from my fingertips and spins towards my brother's face. It hits his right eye, giving him an identical scar. I grin. Victory. _

"Azula?"

I shake my head and force my gaze upwards once again. The man before me gazes down on me with cold eyes.

"What is wrong with you?"

His words touch a nerve. He is mocking, pitying. But I am not beneath him.

"Zuzu," I say, trying to regain my patronizing tone that had worked so well in years past. I know it sounds pathetic. "The Prodigal prince come to visit me in my madness. How... thoughtful."

"I'm not a Prince anymore," he spits, defensively. "You know that, Azula. You knew that as soon as I walked in, you just don't want to admit it."

He's right of course, but it still hurts.

"Fine. Firelord, huh? Then you're the one responsible for this?" I nod my head to my surroundings. I'm trying to guilt trip him, but I'm doing a poor job. My 14 year old self would be ashamed.

He nods tersely, but I can see his lips growing thin and his scowl getting more scowly than usual. I've touched a nerve.

"Six years, Zuko. Six years of solid isolation?! All so that I wouldn't interrupt you as you took the throne? You're sicker than I gave you credit for." There is a bit of pride in my voice. My brother isn't as soft as I thought.

"It had nothing to do with that!" Zuko says. "You had a breakdown, Azula. A mental breakdown. You needed help."

"_Help?!" _The idea that this life his helpful at all is morbidly hilarious, and I can't help but burst into laughter.

"I knew it," Zuko said, looking at me disgustedly. "You're mad. You've always been mad."

I am not. I start to defend myself, but I stop, chuckling. He's probably right about that too. People always seem to be right when they say things like this. I regain my composure-or what little of it I have left.

"You're going to have to fill in a few details, Zuzu," I say. "I've been a bit... _separated_ from the outside world."

"A few details on what?" Poor Zuzu. He never really was the first to catch on.

"Regale me with the story of your coronation, big brother," I try to keep my tone even as I look at his face... his undeserving, patronizing face.

He pauses, saddened almost. "You don't want to hear it." I don't have to ask why. His tone gives it all away.

"You think me to be fragile?" I laugh. "Zuko, dear, do you even know who you're talking to?"

"The girl who has been locked in an institution for years? The girl who abandoned all sane thought after her two friends stuck up for me? The girl who mutilated her body? The sadistic torturer? Murderer? I know who I'm talking to." He pauses after his rant, regains control and continues.

"But you can't live forever in the dark."

Damn right. I deserve the facts.

"You know full well that Katara and I left you at the palace on the day of Sozin's comet," he begins cautiously, as if trying to soften the blow of the story of my demise. But I've had six solid years to think about that day, and I'm over it. All I want now is what's rightfully mine, but that can't happen if Zuzu here doesn't fill in some details.

"Katara revived me and we went to find Sokka, who was fighting with the rest of the troops. By the time we got there, the war was history. The Firenation fleet had been destroyed by a handful of vigilantes from the Water Tribes and Earth Kingdom. While they had been fighting the fleet, Aang was fighting our father."

"The Avatar," I correct him. Hearing my brother on a first name basis with the enemy we had sought for so long gave me a terrible feeling. "The Avatar was fighting father."

Zuko, of course, ignores me. "The battle was terrible. That land is still scorched, six years later. But Aang prevailed. Even with the power from Sozin's comet, father could not best him."

"Is father dead?" I ask the obvious. Of course he was. Why else would Zuko be Firelord?

"No."

What? That would mean... Zuko usurped the throne? I'm becoming more impressed with my brother's gall, but less impressed with his loyalty. How dare he steal the throne while father is still a capable leader!

"But he's not really alive either," Zuko amends his earlier statement. "The Avatar-Aang- he has acquired bending powers beyond even your wildest dreams. He did something... I don't know, I didn't see it happen... but he took our father's bending away."

Impossible. "What do you mean? The Avatar chi-blocked father? That's not permanent- Tylee has chi-blocked me before-"

"Not chi-blocking. That goes away. No. The Avatar removed his ability to bend."

I can't explain it. I've never felt fear like this before. My blood runs cold, and the color drains from my face. I'm frozen. Petrified. If what Zuko says is true, then I'm in grave danger. I'm a sitting target; trapped in a cell. The Avatar knows I'm a threat to him, and to Zuko's throne. One word from Zuko, and the Avatar could waltz right in here and take my bending. My power. My life.

It's as if Zuko knows my realization. His eyes gleam with a sick victory and a smile grazes his lips as he sees the fear written on my face. He reminds me of myself a bit.

"Take care, Azula," he says, as he turns away from me. Without another word, he leaves the cell. I want to scream after him, but I'm too shocked to form words. I begin to shiver, although the temperature in the room has not changed.

Clearly, I've picked the wrong side to be on.


End file.
